


my brain's a hurricane of sky and sea

by bodytoflame



Series: fragile heart [16]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Percy Jackson, Genderbending, Mild Smut, Percy is just very much in love and can't go without expressing it for five minutes, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Smut, Trauma, author cannot write smut without turning it into a mushy feelings mess, author has a mental breakdown in the tags, god has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, ish?, now with 2x the feelings, we're clearly two sides of the same coin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-04-25 00:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodytoflame/pseuds/bodytoflame
Summary: “We’ve spent so much time trying not to feel the things that hurt us but… I want to feel things. I want to feel like I’m alive, and this is real.”--wlw percabeth gang let;s go lesbians(It has come to my attention I have already written this on one of these so let me reiterate,,,,,let’s go lesbians)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: fragile heart [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553368
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	my brain's a hurricane of sky and sea

**Author's Note:**

> anon......... I tried

**i got good at feeling pain**  
**until no obstacles remained**  
**a resolution in the chaos that I made**

**odyssey ..//.. the accidentals**

* * *

“I’d rather not wake up half of camp, Wise Girl.”

Annabeth’s never been good at quiet. At least, not when it comes to Percy Jackson. Sneaking into her cabin undetected is one thing. Trying not to shout expletives at her incessant teasing is an entirely different beast.

“Percy…”

She moves her hand to cover Annabeth’s mouth; it’s downright intoxicating as she wraps her lips around a finger, not breaking eye contact.

“Is that how this is going to go?” Annabeth’s voice is ragged, asking for more.

“It is if you can’t be quiet.” It’s rare for Percy to take control. She likes and is comfortable with letting Annabeth tell her what to do, but sometimes she can get so… pent up; the only reasonable solution is to let Percy do the thinking for a bit. She’s perfectly happy to indulge Annabeth, as long as she doesn’t get them into an embarrassing situation, which is seeming more and more likely with every passing second — Percy coaxes a soft gasp out of her with a kiss to her neck.

“Annabeth,” her lips buzz against her neck, slow and pleading, “Quiet.”

When Percy’s in charge, she knows better than to mouth off. That’s an easy way to end up under her, begging for some kind of release (which she already is). So she suppresses her instincts and hopes she remembers how to breathe. _In, and out. Slow. Quiet._

In all honesty, it isn’t exactly how she pictured the evening going: she figured the best way to welcome Percy back to camp would be some fun with their friends, and, _okay_, maybe some lazy morning sex. Turns out a week is far too long for Percy to be away from Annabeth Chase. Not that she’s complaining.

Complaining? No. Desperate? Well…

Options weighed, she hates that it’s come to this: “Percy, please.” Even though she doesn’t like to beg, and her hubris rarely allows it, it makes Percy practically melt. If it’s going to get her to do something, _anything_, it’s worth it.

“Don’t you dare.” Percy swallows, already feeling heat light up her face as the words send sparks through her body.

“Please,” she repeats, with a smile that knows she’s won.

Percy’s gone — she buries a hand between Annabeth’s thighs, weaving around the fabric still covering her. Kisses trail down the side of Annabeth’s neck and chest like a downpour, only fitting coming from a child of the sea.

Regretting the fact that she only managed to get her shirt off before peeling off the layers between her hands and Annabeth, Percy curses the friction between her legs. Both too desperate and too committed to stop, she presses up against Annabeth’s leg between hers.

Like second nature, Annabeth’s hands wrap around her back. Percy’s fingers curl, and Annabeth follows suit, letting out a hushed gasp. Percy winces, but doesn’t stop or let up.

“Did that hurt?” Annabeth manages, ghosting a thumb across Percy’s forehead to wipe away the bead of sweat that’s formed. Her hand shakes, and Percy slows to a glacial pace.

Rough and quick isn’t them, not usually; only when they’re losing the remnants of a particularly vicious nightmare in each other’s bodies. They have all the time in the world; there’s no need to rush, and Percy wants to look at Annabeth, really look at her. _She’s like a renaissance painting._ “A little.” Her face is flushed and her curls are mussed, sticking to her forehead with a thin layer of sweat (and she’s not sure if it’s her doing or the heat).

“Sorry,” voice breathy, she squirms, aching for her to keep going. Percy can hear her becoming more impatient.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

She’s going to regret it tomorrow when the heat’s in full force and she can’t wear a tank top, but the dull tug of nails dragging against her skin burns in just the right way that she’s been needing. It’s a sensation her body vaguely registers as pain, but she’s felt so much worse, and, by the _gods_, it’s _something to feel_ (and that’s worth so much).

Annabeth raises her eyebrows, readying a teasing comment. Percy doesn’t give her the satisfaction, capturing Annabeth’s lips with her own. Her focus returns to her body, listening and responding to every reaction. Percy bites back a laugh as she finds a sensitive spot, Annabeth releasing her name in a hot breath. She really wouldn’t mind watching her like this for hours.

She grips Percy tighter, little crescent shapes finding indents in her flesh, and suppresses a moan that comes out like a squeak into Percy’s mouth (the sound makes Percy _really_ wish she’d taken off her jeans). Lips trail down Percy’s jaw and neck with little direction, her only goal to find a safe space in her body. Light kisses melt into hums, singing against the nook in Percy’s shoulder she’s buried her face in.

Percy walks her across the edge, giving and taking for only a moment before letting her go. She won’t make her wait, _not tonight_, when all she’s thought about all week is making her come undone in her arms. Gentle hands stroke through her curls, holding her head as she comes down. Her hair smells like her lemon shampoo, and, strikingly, Percy notes, the salt of the sea. It shouldn’t be a surprise considering how much time she spends around Percy, but it’s incredibly comforting, especially after so long away from her. The girl she loves, and the ocean; her two favorite things, in that order.

The only thought that breaks through the blissful fog in Annabeth’s head is just how _in love with her she is_. Once her breathing slows and her body stills, she rests her head on Percy’s chest, half on top of her in the twin-sized bed.

“Annabeth,” Percy breathes her name out slowly, an answered prayer.

“What?” She turns her chin up to look at her.

“I… just wanted to say your name. Hi.”

She reaches a lazy hand over to thumb Percy’s jeans open. “You missed me, huh?”

“So much.”

Percy’s jeans barely make it past her thighs. She’s about to add something snarky about her being _eager_, but there’s Annabeth, always a step ahead; “Don’t act like you could wait.”

No, not really. She’s been antsy for the past hour and a half through that _stupid_ welcome back party, and it didn’t help that Annabeth— “You wouldn’t stop making eyes at me all night.”

She moves, slow, and gentle, delicately articulated. “What, these eyes?” An endless storm stares back at Percy.

She bites back a reply (_Yes, those damn eyes_), knowing it’ll just make Annabeth ease the already languid movements she’s settled into. She’s barely touched Percy, even so, she feels like she’s going to melt. “You got _this_ worked up watching me?” Her tone is teasing, laced with intrigue, almost as if she doesn’t believe it.

_Yes._ It might even be an understatement to say there’s literally nothing better than Annabeth saying dirty things to her. Her hips rock against Annabeth’s hand, but she follows the motion, denying her any more release.

“You’re cruel, Chase.”

“I’m just messing with you, Jackson,” she smiles, focusing her energy into bringing her closer, knowing it won’t take her long at all. Percy’s voice shakes, stumbling through a broken gasp of her name. “It’s okay.” _You’re safe. You’re home. You can breathe._

She lets Annabeth bring her guard down. A delicate kiss warms Percy’s cheek, and they’re a near-silent jumble of breathy sighs and sheets as she crashes. Percy drapes over her, heart to heart, a mess of limp limbs; In turn, Annabeth’s arm wraps around her, resting the heel of her palm on her lower back. It sends a spark out in every direction, a reminder of the significance the spot once held.

“Still feels funny?” Annabeth holds her close, fingers threading through her frizzy blonde curls.

Percy mumbles a response into her hair. “Feels good.” _Like lightning. Like… being alive._

Annabeth notices the raised pink marks across her shoulder blades, tracing her fingers up lines that match the contour of her hand perfectly. From far away, they almost blend in with the long white scars scattered across her skin. How is she supposed to reconcile the balance between being directly responsible for causing her both pain and pleasure? As guilty as she feels seeing the evidence of something _she_ did, it’s reassuring to know that she feels safe letting Annabeth mark her as _hers_ in that way. She asks again, “You’re okay with this? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Annabeth,” she pulls herself to the side, so she can look at her properly, face to face. “I love you, and I completely trust you.”

That isn’t a no. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“You were trusting me with the _most intimate_ part of you, and I was trusting you with the most vulnerable part of myself. And it… to know I was making you feel that way… it’s like being connected to what you’re feeling, and trusting you to help me feel something too.”

“Is that what it is? _Feeling something_?”

A few scratches that’ll be gone in a day don’t bother her. They don’t hurt, not really. They sting a bit as she runs her fingers over them, no worse than a cat scratch. “I’ve had papercuts that’ve hurt more,” she laughs, trying to find a better explanation. They just remind her she’s human, and alive, and that they’re together. “I… it’s like a really good training session. It burns, but you know it’s going to be good for you, and all you want is to feel that burn again.”

Annabeth looks at her with concern, and Percy can tell she doesn’t really understand. Intimacy is still somewhat new to them, and limits have never really come up; they’ve always been okay at figuring things out as they go. So here goes.

“We’ve spent so much time trying not to feel the things that hurt us but…” It’s true — they haven’t talked about the fall, not nearly enough. Just pushed it further and further back until it reached the deepest depths of their minds, replaced by new scars. “I want to feel things. I want to feel like I’m alive, and this is real.” She strokes Annabeth’s cheek, “But I also want you to be okay.”

“I’m done running too, Percy. And I _am_ okay. I’m here, aren’t I?” She tries to cracks a smile, but her eyes tell a different story.

“We’re not okay.” Far from it. They’re still plagued by nightmares and deep-seated fears that slip through the cracks of their subconscious at the worst times. “But we _are_ here.”

“I know.”

“So talk to me.”

“It was just,” she blushes bright red (which her logical half immediately scoffs at, because she should be able to talk about this without turning into a tomato), “intense… and it felt okay in the moment, but it scares me because I don’t want to lose control. I can’t hurt you.” _We’re already too broken._

Expression of self-doubt is far from what she’s used to hearing from Annabeth in terms of her fears. She’s never even hinted at it. From what Percy knew, the things that kept her up at night were visions of monsters and death. Has she been holding it back this entire time? Just to make Percy feel better? Annabeth should know better — she would _never_ hurt her. Percy knows that in the deepest, most innate part of herself. “You won’t. Annabeth, how many times did you have to convince me of the same thing?”

Quietly: “A lot. And you still don’t believe it.”

No. She doesn’t. It’s why she waited so long, despite knowing she’s wanted to be with this girl for the rest of her life since they were 18. There was still some part of her subconscious that was convinced she was wrong for her. That she’d only hurt her, just like she’s hurt _everyone else in her life_ and — _breathe._

The thoughts still creep into the back of her mind far too often. Annabeth never says anything, just holds her tight until they pass. Tonight's no different.

It was hard to get past it, especially at first. Sure, it would be easy enough to chalk it up to being oblivious, but she couldn’t lie. She could tell Annabeth had wanted to rip her clothes off for months before it actually happened, especially on the Argo II. The intensity and fervor she kissed Percy with in the weeks that followed was a raging fire that burned bright against the actual flames they'd been through; but even if she wanted nothing more than to lie with her until they’d forgotten everything that came before (and she did)… they weren’t in the right state of mind.

“Just promise you’ll tell me exactly what you want, especially if that means stop,” Annabeth adds, noting her silence.

“Always.”

They stay like that for a while, taking in the sounds of slow, steady heartbeats, until Annabeth gets up. She peels her body from the sheets, reaching to take off her undergarments, and gathering her clothes from the floor.

“What are you doing?” Percy asks, knowing the answer that’s coming ends with a certain Yankees cap and a stealthy sprint back to her own cabin.

“Stealing something to wear. I’m not putting these back on.” A laugh escapes her mouth as she drops the ball of fabric into a pile next to the dresser. By her estimation, at least a third of the clothes in Percy’s drawers are things she’s stolen from Annabeth and never given back (although she could probably say the same about Annabeth’s wardrobe). She grabs something she can easily slip on, and an extra set for her girlfriend who’s now fumbling out of her sweaty clothes.

“I see your point.”

Annabeth gets a glimpse of the scratches across her back again, and finds her mind wandering, curious what it would feel like to have Percy’s nails raking down her back in the same way. _Oh. So that’s what it is._ (She’s still glad they talked. It was a good talk.)

Percy finally wrangles her jeans completely off (if only an eternity too late), and takes the change of clothes from Annabeth, who’s looking down at her, positively radiant, as she wraps her hair into a bun.

“You staring at me?”

She is. Her gaze doesn’t break as she stands up to pull on the pair of shorts over fresh underwear. Because Annabeth’s wearing her _ACDC_ shirt, and those pizza-print boxer shorts she always makes fun of Percy for wearing, and truth be told, she’s never looked more stunning. “Those are mine,” Percy says, unable to offer up anything but the most basic observation. She blinks, and tugs her head through the shirt Annabeth gave her.

“Very smart. So is that.” Annabeth plants an accusatory finger in the middle of her sternum. Percy looks down, noticing the worn letters of her NYU shirt.

“Guess that makes us even.” She extends her hand, pulling Annabeth into her grasp and tumbling down onto her bed. “We’re so lucky.”

No. They worked hard to get here. Alive; together. “We’re _fighters_, Perce.”

They were. _Are_. Now that she has Annabeth, she never wants to let go, and she’d fight to the ends of the earth and beyond to keep her here in her arms. Unfortunately, that doesn’t take camp rules into consideration. “I wish you could stay here with me.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna get in trouble—” There’s no changing her mind once she’s set, but it makes Percy feel a bit better at least trying to dissuade her. She pleads to the gods, really, anyone that’ll listen, to let her stay, even if it’s just for tonight.

“Okay,” she repeats, yawning.

“—So don’t blame me when we get lectured.”

“Love you.”

A whisper into the air between dreams and reality: “I love you too, Annabeth.”


End file.
